


Warming up to You

by Wolfgrowl



Series: Couerl Got your Tongue [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Meeting, Kittens, M/M, Nijoh'ir is like a stray cat and Haurchefant is like me trying to pet them, POV Second Person, This is Self-Indulgent and you will enjoy it, You all did enjoy it so I added a second chapter, gaining trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfgrowl/pseuds/Wolfgrowl
Summary: Lord Haurchefant's thoughts upon meeting Nijoh'ir Jesyho, Warrior of Light, Miqo'te, and kitten wrangler? He would simply like to convince the Warrior of Light to put his trust in him.





	1. Chapter 1

You spot the three stragglers immediately. They’re hard to miss, one a young Elezin before puberty has hit him, the other an older worn Hyur and rounding out the trio a young Miqo’te who is huddling against the cold as he speaks to the boy.

You only catch a glimpse of them for a moment between the door opening and closing step but you suspect you know who they are. Word spreads quickly in an outpost and the remnants of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have finally made their way to your camp.

You do not have long to wait though before the doors open again and the Miqo’te enters. He’s poorly dressed for the weather though you can see some attempt was made. He glances to the fire and a look of relief seems to come over his face, how long has the poor man been in the cold?

His red hair is streaked with blonde that looks more like gold or sunlight if you’re feeling poetic and gazing upon him who couldn’t feel inspired to verse? Even under the attempt at cover you can see the strength in his arms, strength needed to use that bow slung over his back. His thighs are a gift from Halone herself. The tail that flicks behind him catches your gaze and you admire the soft fur that matches his ears. One look at this man makes you wonder if the real reason other houses don’t like adventurers is the chance they’d seduce all the young folk.

“Lord Graystone?” He asks as he meets your gaze. You don’t flinch at the last name, you’re too used to it and too trained but it’s not a reminder you enjoy.

“Haurchefant,” you correct, you’d rather this beautiful Miqo’te use your first name.

“Lord Haurchefant.” Progress. He glances about and you see his eyes narrow as he takes in the soldiers milling in your office. Most are simply warming themselves as long as they can and only looking at him because he’s the most interesting thing in the room currently, not to mention a feast for the eyes. But he seems to stand straighter, eyes sharper.

He makes his way to your desk and you lean forward, “you have the unmistakable swagger of an adventurer.” His stride is confident and certain and nearly silently even on the stone. “If you’ve come to pay your respects, be at ease, friend. I am not one to stand on formality.” His ears prick up at that but the tension doesn’t seem to ease from him. “Truth be told I would gladly welcome many and more brave souls like yourself. But enough chatter- pray tell why you have come.”

He simply pulls out a letter, you don’t need him to tell you who it’s from; you recognize Francel’s handwriting immediately.

You have to read the letter twice just to be sure that yes, Francel is being accused of a heretic. The adventurer before you barely moves as you read other than his eyes roaming your face. You set the letter down and get to your feet, he jerks and his tail straightens as he seems to realize how tall you are before he relaxes to his previous tense state.

You keep your voice calm which seems to relax him as you declare Francel’s innocence. “But the letter made mention of a pressing matter in which you required assistance? What was it?”

He pauses and draws a breath, “Lord Haurchefant we’re looking for an airship, _The Enterprise_ , that crashed during the calamity. We have traced its path to Ishgard but we don’t know where it went down and any help finding it would be great.”

You nod, you’ll help him of course. Not because you’re a lost cause for a pretty face (though you are and his is very pretty) but because it is clearly urgent. Though you have to admit and do.

“I feel it may prove difficult to find any eye witnesses to these events, for while Ishgard did not participate in the Battle of Cartenau, we were embroiled in our own internal conflicts at the time.”

His eyes darken (one blue, one dark purple; is such a trait common among Miqo’te, it makes him all the more fetching) and his ears drop but you’re not done.

“Nevertheless, I will make inquiries on your behalf and share with you my findings in the future.”

He blinks as though taken aback and before you can continue he asks, “you will?” He looks stunned, as though your helpfulness is foreign to him. He shakes his head, “sorry, I mean thank you Lord Haurchefant.”

Your mouth twitches slightly, “In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of Camp Dragonhead. As a guest of House Fortemps, I will see that you are afford every courtesy.”

How have your fellow countrymen treated him that he looks as wary as a kicked stray at your kindness? After a moment he nods and offers his thanks yet again. He slips to the fireplace to sit on the stone before it, not even pulling over a chair, simply warming his hands. All the while he watches you out of the corner of his eye.

You can’t say you aren’t doing the same, you hope to see some of the tension and wariness go out of him but if anything it gets worse. You’re grateful you didn’t give into your impulse to offer him your quarters as you think he might’ve sprinted straight back to the lowlands.

Yaelle walks past him and you watch his tail whisk to his side as though he’s afraid it will be stepped on. You know she, like most if not all of those who serve you, holds the same belief you do about adventurers. When she passes him again she makes sure to give him space.

You look away when Corentiaux clears his throat. You raise your eyebrow at him but it seems he’s actually just got a cough.

When you look back to the fire the adventurer is gone without even a last glimpse of his gold tipped tail.

-

You are in luck though as he returns a short time later, joined by the older Hyur man. The Miqo’te glances to you warily before he resumes speaking to his companion.

“Alphanaud is young and proud,” he shakes his head, “and if I continued that conversation I would’ve yelled at him.”

“Because you’re both stubborn,” Master Garlond, you cannot believe your eyes but it does seem to be him, says and the adventurer snorts.

“Yes,” he runs a hand through his mane of hair and over his ears which twitch in response. You wonder absently how soft they are to the touch.

Master Garlond claps him on the shoulder and shakes his head, “I’ll keep an eye on him if I can do nothing else for you.”

The miqo’te nods and watches him leave, you wonder at the bag he’s holding to himself as he makes his way over to the fire.

“My friend,” you greet him as he sits down and he startles with a look of what can only be called fear. You hold your hand up to soothe him, he’s done nothing wrong. The fur on his tail lies flat after a moment and he nods slowly.

“Lord Haurchefant.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been remiss as a host.” he tilts his head, partially hiding his light blue eye. There’s bright paint under his eyes, the markings there are recently painted. You wonder absently if he did them himself, “I haven’t caught your name.”

He blinks and after a moment speaks, “Nijoh’ir Jesyho.” He sets the bag down, putting himself between it and you, or putting it closer to the fire, or both. You glance at it before focusing on him again. He’s wary, it would not do to upset him when it seems like you might be making progress.

“It may take some time before I receive any information regarding your missing airship,” you admit and he nods slowly. You see some realization hit him and he stands back up as though he knows you will ask a request of him.

“While you wait, mayhap you might indulge me a small favor?”

He accepts your request to practice with your soldiers with a nod, you see some kind of resignation in his eyes as he heads out the door. He leaves the bag near the fireplace and you take it as a sign of trust. You glance around to see that everyone has understood to not go through it before you head up the ramparts.

He is splendid, there is no other word for it. He leaps and fires arrows that cause your soldiers pause as they dodge and attempt to get close to him but he circles and avoids them, perhaps it was slightly unfair to ask an archer to fight three knights but he had not complained and now you almost wish he could train more of your men as you watch him lead them about. He handles the unfamiliar terrain well you must say. The flush to his cheeks, the bright gleam in his eye and the thought of the sweat rolling down his back stirs a longing in you, a warmth you press down despite the chill. He is wary enough without you openly lusting for him at the moment.

Nijoh'ir is declared the winner and you slip away as your soldiers congratulate and thank him. You just catch the look of bafflement on his face before you head down the stairs to meet him back at your office.

You meet him on the stairs leading to your office, he’s quick. His mismatched eyes clever too as he takes you in. You can see the sweat dampen his brow as he brushes his hair, a mane almost, out of his face. You compliment his form, you thank him for his time and you see him tilt his head just slightly. You don’t know if he knows what to make of you.

You will need to make a list for him, of those in the houses perhaps willing to help him. A call of his name pulls him from you, far too soon, as he bounds over to see what Cid and Alphinaud need of him.

Well that gives you time to make that list. Maybe write a missive or two encouraging them to help him.

You make your way back to your desk, you can contact House Dzemael, not that you expect help from them but you can try. You think you know who in house Fortemps, Hailenarte and Durendaire is liable to help him.

He returns just as you’ve made yourself comfortable at your desk. He heads for the fire, or perhaps his bag and you’d like to let him warm himself but he seems to notice your gaze and swerves to approach you.

“As you have doubtless realized by now, the High Houses of Ishgard – House Fortemps included – are either unable or unwilling to offer you formal assistance in your search.”

Nijoh’ir’s twitched and he nodded, “figures.” He starts to turn away, you rise slightly to grab his arm but the movement alone halts him. He looks at you curiously and with confusion.

“If you can’t help me-” It’s not an accusation but a bewildered question. _Then why are you stopping me?_ Goes unsaid.

But you can help him and you will help him. Bastard or not, surely your name will mean something, not just to House Fortemps. You give him the list, you are surprised when he mentions that he’s already tried the chief astrologian and found the man only unhelpful.

“Perhaps he will be more accommodating once I inform him that you are a friend of House Fortemps.” His eyes grow wide at those words, it’s adorable how his ears and tail both rise in surprise. You smile gently at him, you promised him aid and you will not forgo that promise.

He gives a quick nod, glances at his bag before seeming to accept that he could leave it here and hurries away. You silently wish him only luck though you doubt he will need it. How could anyone not see how splendid the man was? How could they not attempt to help him? Ishgard hospitality be damn the man moved something in you.

It is sometime after Nijoh'ir has left that you first hear it. A soft mew. Yaelle turns her head towards the Warrior of Light's bag, which you can now see has begun to shift. She glances at you for permission, you nod, and she steps towards it to lift the flap. The pair of kittens that tumble out are wholly unexpected and bring everyone in the room to a halt as they stare at the pair. One is spotted, the other pure black, both with large eyes that take in the room. They recover from their surprise first and begin to explore, tottering around under the war table. Yaelle ducks after them and that pulls all of you out of your stupor to go chasing the kittens.

Dragons are easier to wrangle but eventually Yaelle grabs the black one and Corentiaux receives a scratch as he pulls the spotted one out from under a chair. You know they're all looking at you for what to do but you must admit this has lest you reeling. What does he even have them for? Surely they are not his? They cannot be. You know little about Miqo'te but surely...

"My lord?" Yaelle asks hesitantly, she's begun to pet the black one, while Courtiax holds his like it is a cherry bomb. You gesture at him and he gladly hands it over. You let it hiss as you set her on your desk, it arches its back and swipes at you.

"Mighty warrior indeed." You smile at it before turning to Yaelle. "I suppose for now we shall supervise them. Once Nijoh'ir returns he can... explain this development."

Yaelle seems content with that, she seats herself at the war table to gently stroke her kitten. It seems the milder one, accepting pets from anyone who ventures over. You are fond of the spotted one though and offer it a quill as a target for its ire. It gleefully accepts.

Word travels fast through camp Dragonhead and many soldiers drop by your office to 'get out of the cold'. You can hardly blame them. You may have to ask Nijoh'ir if you might borrow these kittens because you have seen more smiles now as people drag a string someone found over the war table for the black kitten to chase than you have in days. The boost to moral is truly something.

The spotted kitten has watched the other play for a bit before it jumped into your lap where it seemed content to stay, peering over your desk every time someone enters as though waiting. You suspect your waiting for the same person. The quill's sacrifice was not in vain as you have earned the ability to pet your kitten's soft ears. This makes it gently paw against your armor, pushing softly into you as though fluffing a pillow. Utterly adorable.

Some of your soldiers laugh as the black kitten bats a wooden dragon off the table. You smile and quip, "with such ferocity and deeds we may have to knight it."

One of your younger recruits salutes the kitten. "Hail the dragon slayer," they say and their fellows laugh.

The kitten has decimated Ishgard's defenses and working on knocking a tower off when the door opens.

Nijoh'ir steps in, his eyes on you, "Lord Haurchefant, I- _Mischief_!"

You duck your head to hide a smile at his shock as his kitten paws the last piece off the table.

He darts forward to lift the kitten off the table and looks at you with wild eyed fear, ears flat against his head, “I am so sor-”

“Please,” you cut him off gently, “Mischief you said? Has provided nothing but amusement. What they lack in battle strategy they certainly make up for in entertainment.”

Nijoh’ir looks to his kitten, “and where is your sister young man?”

“Mew!” The spotted kitten climbs out of your lap to race across the desk and jump down to run to Nijoh’ir. He crouches down to examine her.

“There you are Fi. Have you also been pestering Lord Haurchefant?”

He carries them over to your desk where he sets them with a glance at the now cleared war table. He’s absently trying to coral his kittens with his hands.

You reach out to catch Fi before she can chew on another quill, when your hand brushes his he jumps and his tail puffs out. You smile at him and his lips twitch in a faint attempt to smile back.

“Good news my friend?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “they are all distracted by…” his ears flatten again, “the thing with Lord Francel.”

You nod and let out a heavy sigh, “that cannot be helped I suppose. I do apologize for not being of more use to you.”

Once more he looks stunned and you’re worried you’re going to hurt him with how quickly you seem to drop surprises on him. It fades quicker this time though, the wariness and caution are slower to return.

“Why don’t you sit down and warm up, if you rush ahead blindly your health will pay the price. I am quite curious about these two as well.” You reach over to scratch under Mischief’s chin and you see something in him relax.

Maybe, finally you have earned some of his trust. His kittens swipe at his tail as he turns around to pull a chair over to sit across your desk from you.

“Fi seems to like you,” he nods to her as she curls up next to your hand. You scratch behind one large ear and smile back at him.

“I am quite taken with them as well.” _Taken with you._

He starts and you think you might’ve spoken your true thoughts out loud but it seems he simply saw something in your face. There is a silent and tense moment between you two before he drops into the chair.

“Would you like some hot cocoa?” you offer him, “perhaps something to eat? You have been run about through the cold, it would not do for you to go unfed. Food that physicks makes the flesh proof against cold.”

He nods eagerly and Yaelle is off before you can even ask someone to fetch some. Instead you settle in the chair and watches as he strokes Mischief.

“You are welcome to leave them here if you are worried about the cold.” You would hate to see something happen to them, not only because they are clearly so precious to him.

The look of gratitude does your quickly developing infatuation no favors, “thank you Lord Haurchefant.”

With a bit of work you might convince him to drop your title. To address you as the friend you are offering yourself to him as.

“Of course, my friend.”

You’d like that a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion of names, birthrights and family.

You stop next to him, Nijoh’ir’s ear twitches as his kittens crawl over him but he makes no attempt to move from his spot next to your hearth.

He turns to look up at you and stretches out on the warm stones of the hearth not unlike his kittens. Mischief mews and curls into his side but Fi pads over to you to rub against your legs and you’ve quickly decided you’re a cat person since Nijoh’ir had come to stay at Camp Dragonhead.

You pull a chair over to next to him to smile down at him, “comfortable?”

“Quite.” He rests his head against his arm, closes his eyes and simply basks in the warmth of the slowly dying fire.

You pick Fi up to sit in your lap and pet while her brother and father? Seem to drift off. You gently nudge your foot into Nijoh’ir’s hip and he makes a small mrrr in his throat which you admit to finding adorable.

“You shouldn’t sleep on the floor,” you tell him gently, “I have offered you a bed and I worry, my friend, that you will catch a chill sleeping there once the fire has gone out.”

Nijoh’ir considers your words while you continue to gently pet his kitten.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” but he does shift so that he’s facing you more. You look at him quizzically but his eyes are half-closed and he seems ready to doze off in the next few moments.

“Nijoh’ir.” You nudge him gently again, “stay awake.”

“I don’t want to.” His yawn slurs half of his sentence and you shake your head at him.

“Then I ask you go to bed somewhere that is not the floor before my hearth.”

His eyes focus on you, you gently scratch Fi behind her ears and watch him with gently concern. Fi is soft and warm as she nuzzles into you palm but you worry that he takes better care of his kittens than himself.

“Surely your charges would prefer a comfortable bed to sleep on.” His eyes narrow at you but it’s with something you dare hope is amusement.

“Using my kittens against me,” he sits up now, Mischief meows and lifts his head as he is disturbed, “clever.”

You simply smile at him until he stretches and grabs Mischief to set him in his lap. You could reach over and scratch him behind the ears the way you do his kitten. It would be so easy. His hair and ears look so soft, but you resist the urge to run your fingers through the strands. In the two days since he arrived you’ve slowly gained his trust but you have no doubt to touch him like that now would destroy everything between you.

“You really have no room to judge me Lord Haurchefant,” he turns to you, offering a small smile, “you’re still here too.”

“This camp sadly does not run itself,” you have however caught up on that paperwork. It is worry for Francel that has kept you awake tonight, mixed with worry for the man sitting at his feet. Earlier he had raced into danger, on your request, to rescue your oldest friend from harm. Harm that could only be held back for so long, try as you all might.

You knew the proof to his innocence has to be somewhere.

Nijoh’ir’s shoulder bumps into your leg as he begins to nod off again, pulling you out of your thoughts and causing his tail snap straight and fluff out.

You gently squeeze his shoulder and his eyes snap to you in alarm that settles to a calmer surprise. He leans into your touch before he shifts.

“Sorry Lord Haurchefant.”

“You do not have to stand on formality my friend.” You assure him gently. You really do wish he wouldn’t.

Nijoh’ir’s ears flatten and he looks away from you, “I kinda do.” He hunches his shoulders and Mischief mews as he’s jostled.

“Why?” You ask, concern coiling in your stomach, “has someone said something to you?” None of your soldiers surely…

He glances at you and his ear lifts only slightly, “not while in Coerthas.” His ears flatten again and he sighs, “it’s just safer to be too polite. Don’t want anyone taking offense that I’m ‘speaking above my station’ or whatever.” His ears flatten further to almost vanish into his hair, “because I’m an adventurer or a Miqo’te or both.”

You feel a stir of rage and indignation on his behalf and speak firmly but gently, “well you may call me simply Haurchefant.” You doubt anyone will object to him disrespecting you, if it can be called that. “You have my full permission my friend.”

He huffs softly and turns to study you, eyes narrowed as he seems to scan your face for something. After a moment he nods hesitantly.

“Haurchefant.” He says as though trying your name or testing the permission that has been granted him. You smile at him and his ears rise to their full height.

“Is there a name you prefer?” You ask curiously, “Nijoh perhaps.” He shakes his head quickly and you worry a moment you’ve crossed a line in your exhaustion and desire to reach out to him.

“Nijoh is my mother’s name, if you’re going to nickname me, go with Ir or Sunmane.” His ears twitch and he lifts his brows, “or another name if you think it fits. I guess Six could also work.”

You take a moment to process that, “Six?”

He twitches his ears and grins, “yes?” You shake your head a moment before he speaks.

“Yeah, my name basically means ‘the sixth son of Nijoh Jesyho’.” He explains, “all keeper males have the suffixes like that. The women don’t have suffixes.” He shrugs his shoulders while you attempt to process that he has _five_ brothers.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Eh, anyone who knows how Keeper names knows that,” he scratches behind his right ear and shrugs, “do you have any siblings?”

“Two,” you answer slowly, “one is older, one is younger.”

He nods and seems to notice the slight strain to your voice, “I’m the youngest of us all.”

“How many of you were there?”

“Uh, my mom had eight including me and my other moms had three so eleven.”

You pause and look at him quizzically, “other moms?”

“Keepers live in family groups,” he explains and flicks his ears as he talks now, “usually several women raising their kids together, the older kids help watch the younger ones, that sort of thing.” He pauses and then adds, “twelve if you count my niece. Though that makes me not youngest.”

Fi settles deeper into your leg, it’s amazing how much a small kitten can weight when they decide to let you carry all of it, but your attention is only on Nijoh’ir, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“It sounds lovely,” you say because it does, the idea of having such a large group to grow up with. “You must miss them.”

Nijoh’ir nods and sighs. “What about you?”

You pause and consider your words before you speak, “like you, my name has meaning.” His ears perk up at that and he focuses on you with only curiosity.

“I gather you do not realize the connotations of the name Greystone.”

Nijoh’ir’s ears flatten slightly, “I- no. I’m sorry if…” You hold your hand up to cut him off, he doesn’t need to apologize for his ignorance.

“It means I am a bastard child.”

He stares at you blankly, before something flickers in his eyes. “Yeah I heard the chief Astrologian mutter something about that when I tried to ask him for help.” He tilts his head, pauses, his ears flatten and he looks away. “Uh, what’s a bastard?” His tail twitches behind him and he glances at you with an awkward grimace.

You stare at him and consider how to explain this, “I was born out of wedlock.”

Nijoh’ir huffs and his mouth twitches, “that’s your great shame?” He shrugs, “so was I. I think. All my siblings were I know that. None of us have the same father. Well the twins do but they’d better.”

There’s a lot to take in with that statement, from how he has misunderstood the society you live in to the fact that _none of his siblings have the same father_ but what you chose to ask is, “you don’t know if your mother was married when she had you?”

“Wood Wailers killed my birth parents.” Nijoh’ir replies calmly, “I’m adopted.”

In the moments that follow the only sound is the cracking of the last bit of the fire as it desperately clings to life.

“I- I’m sorry?”

He shrugs and shakes his head, “doesn’t really matter. I don’t remember them and I grew up in a family that loved me. But I have no idea if my parents were married. I don’t think so though.” He looks to you, “so does that mean anyone with the last name Greystone isn’t related to you, they were just also born out of wedlock.”

“Yes.” You take a breath and that cuts off what looks like another question. He settles in to listen and you nod in thanks to him.

“Ishgard values family lines for the sake of inheritance. My name being Greystone indicates that I have no claim to any part of my father’s estate.” Not that he keeps it from you though you worry about the resentment from Artoirel and Emanellain and that does keeps you from Fortemps Manor. Nijoh’ir looks baffled.

“But you’re family.” His ears flatten and he looks to you in confusion, “and it’s not like you chose to be born out of wedlock? Why punish you?”

How many times had you asked yourself that growing up? How many times had you wondered what crime you had committed to deserve this? Resented for being born at all. You shake your head and don’t answer him.

A low growl rumbles in Nijoh’ir’s throat and you turn to him in surprise. His eyes are narrowed and his tail lashes behind him furiously, ears pinned.

“They at least like, loved you right?” You’re so startled you hesitate and there is a fury to rival Halone’s in his eyes now, “they _loved you didn’t they?”_

“I-.” You know your father does. You think Artoirel and Emanellain did once.

Nijoh’ir snarls and his ears are flat against his skull, teeth actually bared so that you can see just how sharp his canine teeth are.

“You have to be shitting me!” He looks disgusted and his tail lashes wildly behind him to the point you worry he will bruise it against the stone.

“Unfortunately that’s how it is in Ishgard,” you tell him, you are surprised by his fury on your behalf and he gives you a sorrowful look. Not like the pitying look the servants gave you as you kept to yourself, training in the gazebo. But like he actually feels sorry for you.

“Gotta say, how it is is stagshit.”

You offer him a small smile, “I- I appreciate your anger but you need not worry.” You have Francel. You have your camp and your soldiers. However strained your relationship to your blood family is you have those around you.

Which is why you worry now so much about Francel. Twelve knows what he’ll do next in an attempt to keep his family name clear. Nijoh’ir’s tail settles and he nods slightly.

“Sorry about that. Just like, family is important to Keepers.” He shakes his head, “like, really important.” He says this as though to dismiss the concern he’s shown about you. He shakes his head to clear it and blinks. He sways slightly and you reach over to steady him.

“I understand,” you assure him, he blinks sympathetically at you and this time when his shoulder bumps against your leg you know it is intentional. You let out a sigh and gently lift Fi to hand her to Nijoh’ir. You stretch out your legs before getting to your feet, the chill settling in your office driving you to bed.

Nijoh’ir nods and gets to his feet as well, holding an exhausted kitten in each hand.

“Good night Ir.” The name feels too short for him, as though he’s bigger than the simple syllable. You’ll have to find something else. What was the other name? Sunmane? You look to hair, the mix of reds and golds certainly explains that name but more than that it suits him. A bringer of hope, of warmth, of light.

“Sleep well Haurchefant.” He mumbles it sleepily but as you thought you like the sound of your name spoken as though you are his friend.

However the way it twists your heart in your chest reminds you that you are greedier still for him.

But his friendship is more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever been so gay for the Warrior of Light you end up sharing part of your life story with him?
> 
> In their defenses; Nijoh'ir would tell anyone who asked his life story because to him it's plainly obvious. He's a Seeker with a Keeper name and his name says how many brothers he had so he's like "yeah whatever." Same thing with Haurchefant. Basically they're just like "yeah I'm telling you this because anyone familiar with my culture could tell you this."
> 
> But then feelings get involved.
> 
> Also yes Nijoh'ir has that many siblings, I have a chart with names, nicknames, birth order and lots of other various stuff. I am committed.


End file.
